Washington is being infiltrated. Where is J. Edgar Hoover when we need him?

The high today was the temperature at which water turns to ice. Moderate for February, but to us spoiled softies, it seemed cold.
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For the most part, I minded not how the hours went. The day advanced as if to light some work of mine; it was morning, and lo, now it is evening, and nothing memorable is accomplished. Instead of singing like the birds, I silently smiled at my incessant good fortune."
—Thoreau